Niche Reviews, Part IV

Let's move on with another set of reviews, shall we?

SWERVEDRIVER - EJECTOR SEAT RESERVATION - 8/10

The title Mezcal Head may have been a harbinger of Swervedriver's fascination with Americana, not surprising considering the band's grungier style compared to its shoegaze brethren and their fascination with the masculine aesthetic of the automobile, epitomized in "Son of Mustang Ford".  Ejector Seat Reservation follows up on that aesthetic by realizing it in a much more definite way.  Much like Raise, it eases into the momentum that it builds.  "Single Finger Salute" seems to echo the bull on the cover of the preceding album, with trumpets resounding like the prelude to a bullfight, and "Bring Me the Head of the Fortune Teller" is replete in a mystical, barren aesthetic.  This album hops back and forth between confident sound that is vintage Swervedriver and a more subtle atmospheric sound, as one can notice in comparing "The Other Jesus" to "Son of Jaguar E" and "Bubbling Up" to "Ejector Seat Reservation".  When they work, Ejector Seat Reservation's more anthemic moments, as in "The Other Jesus," "Last Day on Earth," and "The Birds" are some of the band's most compelling works.  The more impressionistic "Son of Jaguar E" showcases a subtle descriptiveness that is often missing from Swervedriver in comparison to their shoegaze contemporaries, but the execution is perfect.  Elsewhere, however, this album has some of the band's worst lyrics.  "I Am Superman" feels pointless, and "How Does It Feel to Look Like Candy?", generally a terrific song, is a bit lacking lyrically.  Nonetheless, while this album is somewhat less consistent than it's predecessors, it also has some great moments that are not to be missed.  Highlights include "The Other Jesus", "Son of Jaguar E", and "The Birds".

ELASTICA - ELASTICA - 8.5/10

When looking back on the Britpop era, it's easy to forget about Elastica, the classic album that was eventually overshadowed by the likes of Dog Man Star, Parklife, (What's the Story) Morning Glory?, and Different Class.  Yet while these other albums were blatantly tackling complex social issues and popular discontent, Elastica was a bold statement album, a punky predecessor of the feminist indie music that is so successful of late.  Elastica is loud, brash, and not afraid to offend, and in a sense feels like more of an inheritor of The Breeders than Blur, whose lead singer Damon Albarn had a lengthy relationship with Elastica frontwoman Justine Frischmann. In a sense, Elastica was the very opposite of a band like Pulp, who sheepishly admitted their perversity and weirdness with a sense of shame that made them seem all the more genuine.  Elastica, on the other hand, seemed almost condescending, writing songs like "Stutter" making fun of men's sexual impotence and writing choruses like "Here we go again" in "Car Song" that drip with boredom.  Justine was never meant to be a sensitive siren like Slowdive's Rachel Goswell or My Bloody Valentine's Belinda Butcher, who imbued the shoegaze movement with some of its most touching moments.  Instead she's tough as nails, almost a caricature, whose voice hides none of her disdain for whatever she's singing about.  Fittingly, these songs wiz by as if nobody in this band honestly cares at all what you think about it.  Yet, at the same time, Elastica contains enough hooky choruses to feed a small army and have a rhythmic swagger that is unavoidable.  Songs even show a hint of sensitivity at times, for example in "Line Up", "Blue", and "Never Here", that, however meager, serves as a tasty morsel in the midst of this proudly apathetic album.  The only weakness to this album is that it is sprinkled with songs that are completely forgettable, such as "Indian Song" and "Annie".  Likewise, "All-Nighter" and "Stutter" seemingly have the same verses, and many will criticize the album as being a bit derivative, though, if we're being honest, what Britpop album wasn't?  Highlights include "Connection", "S.O.F.T.", and "Waking Up".

IDLEWILD - EVERYTHING EVER WRITTEN - 6.5/10

I think we all saw this coming, and yet I still love Idlewild all the same.  Roddy's voice is still like a second father, always understanding, always encouraging me to keep positive.  Yet here we are with another soft as down Idlewild album, and while Idlewild is probably the only band good enough to make saccharine songs into anthems - "Quiet Crown", "I'm Happy to Be Here Tonight", and "American English" are still some of my favorite songs - they don't quite manage to be especially interesting on this album.  Now, it must be noted, this album is still undoubtedly better than Make Another World.  Like Make Another World it starts out on an a high note that much of the rest of the album fails to live up to, but unlike Make Another World, there are some other masterworks comparable to Idlewild's best work that crop up throughout this album.  This also sounds like a band that actually cares about the songs they're performing, unlike on Make Another World, where the most genuine band on the planet were clearly going through the motions.  Nonetheless, the vast majority of this album, even though I must admit that it does grow more interesting with repeated listens, never really becomes interesting, though it must be granted again that there are some new thing on this album that differentiate it from the folky sound of Post Electric Blues.  Enough with the bad, however, and on to the good.  First of all, this album thunders out of the gate, and while the excitement of "Collect Yourself" never really gets built upon - much the opposite of Hope is Important where the first song was possibly the worst on the album - it is a compelling start.  There are also other nice bits in this album, such as the jam out at the end of "Come On Ghost", the majority of "(Use It) If You Can Use It", which is an unnecessarily long 7 minutes long, though it remains one of the more compelling songs on the album.  Most of all, it should be noted that "Radium Girl" and "On Another Planet" are phenomenal songs that show just how much potential this album had, and remind us that Idlewild is still Idlewild.  Even on Make Another World and Post Electric Blues they managed to come up with "In Competition for the Worst Time" and "Circles and Stars".  Nonetheless, for a band that gave us Hope is Important, 100 Broken Windows, The Remote Part, and a whole host of incredible B-sides and even in their least inspiring albums began to show a knack for writing incredible closing songs, an album filled with the likes of "So Many Things to Decide" and "Like a Clown" and capped off with the emotionally flimsy "Utopia" serves as more food for thought than most of the songs themselves do, as a band truly unique in its brilliant lyricism and playful musical arrangements seems to have nearly exhausted themselves, though some brilliant moments remain.  All in all, it reminds me of how Proust described his perception of Bergotte, whose work had once been so unquestionably brilliant, now writing novels that were only just above bland in quality.  Highlights include "(Use It) If You Can Use It", "On Another Planet", and "Radium Girl"

p.s. Idlewild is still the best

Niche Reviews, Part III

Let's push forward with another three reviews, etc., etc.

OASIS -- DIG OUT YOUR SOUL -- 7.5/10
This is the last Oasis album.  After a decade of releasing notoriously horrible after notoriously horrible album, at least in light of the dizzying heights they had at one time achieved, one might assume that it was an overdue ending, that it was time to take Oasis out back because we just couldn't bear to see them like this.  Yet for every "Little James" and "Force of Nature" that is laughably bad - an especially unforgivable sin for a band like Oasis that had every intention of saving music when they could have gotten some more leeway by being a bit less serious - there were still those moments of brilliance, perhaps not quite as potent as "Live Forever" or "Don't Look Back in Anger", but brilliant nonetheless, that remind you that there's a reason why everyone used to like Oasis.  Thankfully, Dig Out Your Soul, while certainly no Definitely Maybe or (What's the Story) Morning Glory?, is something of a return to form, a small redemption for a band that for so many years seemed to be just going through the motions.  Average songs like "The Turning," for the first time in ages, have a fire to them that even Be Here Now, the undeservingly demonized start of Oasis' decline, didn't have in its less show stopping tunes.  And yes, it must be admitted that this is an album that includes the songs "(Get Off Your) High Horse Lady" and "Ain't Got Nothin'", but, at the same time, this album showcases an Oasis that isn't just doing a Beatles impersonation for 45 minutes - at least most of the time.  Remarkably, these songs max out at 5:09, avoiding the absurd length that turned the good Britpop tunes on Be Here Now into repetitive marathons.  Finally, we see a bit of a reinvention.  "Falling Down" doesn't sound like anything else Oasis had ever released, and these songs have a momentum that Oasis had lacked for years.  Liam even pitches in with the brilliant "I'm Outta Time," reminding us why he's in this band and why he was the voice of a generation for a few short years in the mid-'90s.  This is no Morning Glory, but it's no Heathen Chemistry either.  Highlights include "Falling Down", "I'm Outta Time", "The Turning".

TEXAS IS THE REASON -- DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE? -- 9/10
Texas is the Reason is probably the total opposite of Oasis in terms of career arc: a universally beloved underground act who released one critically acclaimed album and then dissolved.  That album, Do You Know Who You Are?, is certainly worthy of high praise.  Texas is the Reason is on the poppier end of the '90's emo canon, with a more listener friendly style than the proggy and experimental Sunny Day Real Estate or the chafingly edgy Jawbreaker.  They also eschew the melodramatic lyricism of Knapsack and Mineral for a biting wit more akin to Superchunk or Archers of Loaf.  Their style, meanwhile, combines the rawness of these predecessors with the approachable smoothness of a band like REM.  The result is a band that has some appeal for pretty much everyone.  Added to this is a knack for delivering memorable lines where they'll be the most effective.  The album starts right off with the catchy sincere snark of the line, "You're allowed to stay for awhle / I'm gonna need your time to slow down".  They also have a knack for building their songs up from simple statements that set the scene into passionate admissions and declarations.  "Back and to the Left" evolves from the sarcastic jibe, "This town was built on miles of hope, and I dare you to give me one reason to stay" to the heartfelt admission "I always worry about you, and I'll always stick up for you."  The range of emotions, from the sardonic to the sincere, flows through the album, giving songs like "There's No Way That I Can Talk My Way Out of This One Tonight (The Drinking Song)" an ambiguity of meaning that unfolds over multiple listens and adds an extra punch to the melancholy honesty of "The Day's Refrain" and the grand finale in "A Jack with One Eye," which ends with the line, "Your place is still in the heart of my everything / You're my everything."  There's no single standout track on this album, but the entire thing is a joy to listen to, and rolls on with a variety that feels constantly fresh, both within songs and in such moments as the transition from the laid-back melancholy frets of the title track to the frantic pace of "Back and to the Left".  The EP tracks in the complete edition are all fantastic as well, especially "Blue Boy" and "Antique", so I highly recommend getting the Complete Collection.  Highlights include "Nickel Wound," "Back and to the Left", "A Jack with One Eye".

GUIDED BY VOICES -- EARTHQUAKE GLUE -- 7.5/10
How do you even start talking about GBV?  Everything's already been said - Bob Pollard has forgotten more hooks than the rest of the musicians in the history of popular music have written, that run of albums from Propeller to Under the Bushes, Under the Stars has never been bested, but the post Tobin Sprout line-up was a bit more hit or miss.  Earthquake Glue is one of those later albums, and, unsurprisingly, lacks a bit of the inspiration that made that run of four albums, highlighted by the irreproachable Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes, so special.  Only one of these songs comes in at under two minutes, and the sound is more polished than GBV in their heyday.  Nonetheless, the later GBV still produced some great songs.  Isolation Drills contained a few of them, and Earthquake Glue has some great moments as well.  "The Best of Jill Hives" is the clear standout on this album, to the extent that it really overshadows the rest of this album in a way even "Game of Pricks" wasn't able to, accompanied as it was by the likes of "Watch Me Jumpstart," "Motor Away," and "My Valuable Hunting Knife."  That said, there are some other really very good songs on this album, including the bouncy "Secret Star," the aggressive "Dead Cloud," and the poppy "Useless Inventions."  Nonetheless, the rest of this album is fairly nondescript.  There's nothing as gaudily (yet always charmingly) bad as some of the songs that were interspersed into Bee Thousand or Alien Lanes, and even the boring songs on this album aren't any more boring than those on Under the Bushes.  All the same, however, this album doesn't hold your attention in the way the best GBV albums do, astonishing you with moments of greatness and keeping you attentive through the lesser songs for little gems of brilliance.  All in all, this is definitely not a bad album, and has some great moments, but it lacks the spark that fueled GBVs best output.  Highlights include "The Best of Jill Hives," "Secret Star," "Dead Cloud."

Niche Reviews, Part II

I'm actually finding I enjoy writing these brief reviews, so let's get right into it.

COSMETIC -- CONQUISTE -- 8.5/10
Sometimes it's hard for me to rate Italian music - sometimes it's a bit derivative, but it really is very good, but maybe the lyrics suck and I just don't know because my vocabulary is too limited.  That said,  regardless of all of that, I can't deny what I like and what I don't like, so here we go with Conquiste.  I'm not sure if this is shoegaze, or just indie rock with a lot of layered guitars, but it sort of feels like Loveless at double speed, or Ride with a bit of an edge.  Right from the start it has this great pulse to it, and a sort of bittersweet smoothness sort of weaves in and out.  It's quite jangly too, and is overall just a fun listen.  I honestly don't understand the words 75% of the time (also true for My Bloody Valentine), but there's something comfortable and sincere about it that's hard to pin down.  In fact, now thinking about it, it really sounds a lot like Yuck with a bit more shoegaziness to it.  But, much like Yuck, Conquiste is an effortlessly enjoyable listen, that makes you think, "This sounds too familiar and self-assured to not be copying someone," but it does have its own character to it.  The guitars here are sludgy, but they also have some nice jangly riffs, as in "Prima o poi", and "Scisma" (named after the band?) has a really cools sliding note change thing that gives it a ton of energy right off the bat.  Even some of the smoother songs like "Melly" and "Per un amico" have jangly pulse to them that powers much of this album, even if the second half does feel a bit slower than the first. Some of the songs do blend together a tad, but this album just too fun to listen to, and the catchier, poppier ones, like "Lenta conquista" and "Prima o poi" easily get stuck in your head, while the others, like "La fine del giorno" and "Lo spavento", have a touch of melancholy too them that is quite powerful.  All in all, this album provides everything you could expect from the more distorted end of shoegaze, and has an assertiveness that demands your attention again and again.  Highlights include "Melly", "Scisma," and "La fine del giorno."

KNAPSACK -- DAY THREE OF MY NEW LIFE -- 8.5/10
I went into this album the first time I listened to it expecting a typical emo album, with strained vocals and everything, but even though the opening riff totally met expectations, I was confused by the soft and straightforward singing at the start of "Thursday Side of the Street".  As it turns out, the ability of Blair Shehan to shift from calm narration to instant desperation an incredibly effective trademark, and give their songs a lot of power.  These are straightforward, punky tracks with simple chords and a slightly more polished sound than the likes of Mineral or Jawbreaker, but the relatability of the scenarios presented in these songs, almost all of which are stories of some sort, and the sheer effort you can hear pulsing through each song makes them really hit hard in their most effective moments.  Now, for me the album opener "Thursday Side of the Street" is clearly the best song on the album, a depiction that for me captures perfectly the loneliness of rural adult life, which usually leaves the rest of the album feeling a bit flat, but the remainder is compelling enough to keep you pumped up, mostly because the changes in emotion throughout each song maintain a level of unexpectedness throughout.  There are definite weakpoints on the album, such as "Henry Hammers Harder", mostly stemming from lyrics whose emotion seems a bit forced at times, but the delivery is so strong that when the lyrics hold up, they are truly potent.  When the lyrics lurch into sudden urgency, as in "Courage was Confused" and "Simple Favor", this album firmly grabs your full attention.  Highlights include "Thursday Side of the Street", "Diamond Mine", and "Heart Carved Tree".

JAWBREAKER -- DEAR YOU -- 7.5/10
Jawbreaker's final album, Dear You is a difficult album to rate, because it really does have some of the band's best songs, with lyrics as clever as they ever were on their earlier albums, but it also has some of their worst, with lyrics that are uncharacteristically cliche and oversentimental.  Jawbreaker has always been a band that relied on writing brilliantly, stingingly whitty and honest song lyrics for their songs to have much of an impact, but it feels like this is even more true for Dear You.  Many moments on 24-hour Revenge Therapy were made by the sheer vitriol of lead singer Blake Schwarzenbach when delivering the killing blow with some of his lines, but after (in)famously undergoing vocal chord surgery before recording what would be their final album, he seemed to have lost the ability to deliver his jabs with that same fire.  He tries a few times, for instance with the line "This must be the place / I can tell by your glare / I wouldn't touch you on a dare" in the song "Chemistry," but it doesn't quite have the same impact.  However, Dear You has some points where the lyrics make up for everything, along with some of their catchiest songs.  "Fireman" is a masterpiece in this regard, delivering jab after jab before devolving into an awkward apology.  "Save Your Generation" is equally uncharacteristic in its positive attitude, although both songs deal with the same troubled topics.  Nonetheless, these songs as well as others like "Chemistry" and the brilliant pastiche "Bad Scene, Everyone's Fault" are so fun to sing along to that you can't help but love the high points of this album.  Unfortunately, there are also a few down moments, notably the irredeemably un-Jawbreakerlike "Million", about longing for "a nice girl" - a concept so foreign to this band whose songs are mostly making fun of other people, that it's really quite unbelievable.  That said, despite how divisive this album is, it's really pretty decent.  They still have their dark moments of cynical brilliance, with "Accident Prone" being the highlight in this regard, and the poppy successors to "Boxcar" are too good to ignore.  Highlights include "Save Your Generation," "Fireman," and "Bad Scene, Everyone's Fault".

Niche Reviews, Part I

Hi all.  I've been reading back through some of my older reviews that came in threes, like celebrity deaths or all of Julian Casablancas' fears, and they were pretty easy to write but also pretty useful it seems.  Meanwhile, I've listened to a whole lot of music since then - so much so that I have felt a bit overwhelmed by the prospect of doing reviews in the order in which I bought them.  As a result, I'm going back and doing these in alphabetical order.  Also, I'm limiting myself to the kind of obscure albums in my collection, because otherwise why else would you be reading this?  Anyway, let's get started.  Also, my rating system may have shifted a bit from their previously ultra-generous scale.  Hopefully these are brief enough to give you an accurate representation.

SEAM -- ARE YOU DRIVING ME CRAZY? -- 7.5/10
To start with, The Problem with Me is a great album and you should listen to it.  It's got this soft, intimate quality combined with a strange sense of energy, like a friend telling you a secret.  The follow-up, Are You Driving Me Crazy? has that same sound, still a surprise from the lead singer of Bitch Magnet, but Seam mixes things up on their third album by turning around from the very introverted songs from The Problem with Me, and show some actual anger and frustration.  Nonetheless, they show it with a softness and sense of futility that can be very relatable in moments of weakness.  It starts out, however, with two of Seam's best tracks.  "Berlitz" has a pace and passion that is missing from Seam's mostly low-key output, yet it feels very in place.  It's followed by the also excellent "Hey Latasha," which is similarly average-paced in a way that's a bit more in line with other American Lo-Fi bands, compared to whom Seam is usually much more fluid and gradual.  After these more energetic songs, Seam glides back toward their usual meandering pace, which is a comforting one, yet the content is clearly much more fraught with frustration and even anger.  Even the album title suggests as much - Are You Driving Me Crazy? is directed outward while The Problem with Me was fittingly more involved with self-discovery.  This shift is clear from the lyrics.  "Port of Charleston" seems to glare angrily with the line "She's just a skinny little thing, doesn't mean any harm, doesn't mean what she says."  And while the pace slows down, and is almost glacial in songs like "Rainy Season" and "Tuff Luck", there are still moments like in "Two is Enough" and album closer "Petty Thievery" that instill a sense of awakeness and energy that make this album itself a bit frustrating in its inability to free itself from the sense of resigned anger expressed in lyrics like "It's something that takes my breath away, and I blame it on you" or "There was a time that I would've cried, but that part of me has up and died".  In this end, this is a relatable album with definite moments of brilliance, but at the end of the day, I guess I want something with a bit more hope.  Highlights include "Berlitz," "Hey Latasha," and "Petty Thievery."

SCISMA -- ARMSTRONG -- 8.5/10
Want a review of an Italian album, written in English? I've got you covered.  Scisma is a band that flies between indie and pop, and has something for everyone, with a consistency of quality that is admirable.  Armstrong is in my opinion, just a bit better than its predecessor, Rosemary Plexiglas, in my opinion, and here I will explain why.  Scisma is a band with frequently clever lyrics, poppy fluorishes, and a sophisticated interplay between singers Sara Mazo and Paolo Benvegnu', who is, as far as I can tell, actually now a fairly successful solo artist (unrelated, but I found out last week that Morgan from Bluvertigo is a judge on the Italian version of X Factor, which blew my mind because Bluvertigo is a very weird band).  Armstrong is the slightly lighter and more exploratory of the two albums, with more multilingual tracks and less of a rock/grunge influence.   As it turns out, it also seems to have many of the Scisma songs with the most sticking power on it.  Opener "Tungsteno" feels a bit derivative and has a much faster pace than the rest of the album, but is undeniably catchy.  The songs that follow are sensitive and insightful character sketches in a sense.  "Troppo Poco Intelligente" has such a biting sense of humor that matches its catchiness, and songs like "L'Innocenza," "L'Amour," and "Simmetrie" are frankly adorable da morire.  Meanwhile, songs like "I am the Ocean" and "Giuseppe Pierri" inject a sort of smooth jazz, sort of Portishead-esque atmosphere into the album that makes it really stand out.  Even though songs like "Tungsteno" and "Jetson High Speed" seem a bit shallow, Scisma have a knack for bringing out the big choruses, as on "Troppo Poco Intelligente" and "L'Universo", and the multiplicity of impressions that the rest of the album imparts makes it an engaging listen. The nuanced simplicity of closer "Good Morning" really caps this off, and leaves us wondering, in a way very similar to Idlewild at their cheekiest moments, when these songs are being serious and when they're reflecting the superficial acting we do every day throughout our lives.  Highlights include "Troppo Poco Intelligente," "Giuseppe Pierri," and "L'Universo".

SUEDE -- BLOODSPORTS -- 8.5/10
Oh man, I remember when this album came out.  Ten years after A New Morning, I was not expecting an opening single like "Barriers," and the rest of this album really just blew me away.  In my experience, comeback albums can be either spectacular, like Majesty Shredding, painfully disappointing, like the new Blur or Idlewild albums or like Pixies comeback Indie Cindy that I'm assuming we're all going to pretend never happened, because as fans of a band, we want something from the same people who brought us so many special moments, but we also want them to bring something new and exciting to the table.  It's a hard task, but when it works it's truly inspiring.  With Suede's new single "Outsiders" just having come out, I can't help but think back to the excitement I had for Bloodsports to come out, and while it's no Dog Man Star, it really was great, as much as I try to temper my love for Suede in order to properly evaluate this album.  Sure, this album has its slow moments, much like, if you'll think back for enough, Suede's self-titled debut, but much like that album, there are such dizzying highs on this album that it really doesn't matter.  "Barriers" sees Brett emerge with a whole new vocabulary and Richard Oakes finally has an identity that's dazzlingly precise, and while he doesn't have the subtle restraint of Bernard Butler, his guitar riffs seem to quiver much like the intonations of Brett Anderson's finely aged but still vital voice.  Before, his voice was like a scimitar, dazzlingly sharp and capable of an immense range of moment, from the low lows of "The 2 of Us" to the slicing highs of "Stay Together." Now it's like a bell, ringing with a sagely purity that forces us to admire its steadfastness.  These songs still sound fresh years later, which is incredible.  A song this poppy shouldn't have the sticking power it does - surely catchy singles like "Electricity" and "Lazy" didn't - but I can still go back to even the weaker catchy songs, like "It Starts and Ends With You", and it still makes my heart beat.  Meanwhile the true standouts of this album - "Barriers", the incomprehensible but potent "Snowblind", "Hit Me" which makes me wonder why and be thankful that Suede aren't all over the radio so that they're all mine, and "For the Strangers", which is literally every bit as good as "The Wild Ones", I promise - are truly spectacular.  Yes, I love Suede, so I may be being generous, and the album does lag a bit in the second half during songs like "What are You Not Telling Me?" and "Always" which have the angst but not necessarily the gutting punch of "Heroine" or "The 2 of Us", but Bloodsports remains a fantastic album not just as a comeback album, or as a Suede album, but as an album, truly underrated when it came out as an entity unto itself.  Highlights include "Barriers," "Hit Me," and "For the Strangers".

Personal Canon Review - Sussidiario illustrato della giovanezza by Baustelle

It's a bit ironic that I didn't really get into Italian music until I left Italy.  I looked around a little bit, already into Verdena by then as I was, and I listened to the radio of course, with a few things sticking out to me as memorable, but I never really found the pathway into good, exciting Italian indie (or underground as my friend terms it).  I'd heard of bands like ...A Toys Orchestra and Jennifer Gentle, but I was really looking for something in Italian, since English music by Italians seemed kind of unnecessary to me.  Finally I heard about Scisma and checked out a bunch of bands in the same vein, namely Bluvertigo and the band whose first album I'll be delving into today, Baustelle.

Baustelle is an interesting band.  I get the sense that later in their career they got really into more natively Italian music like the singer-songwriter music popularized by the likes of Fabrizio de André and the more operatic style that still dominates much of Italian pop music (Fiorella Mannoia comes to mind in that regard, even if operatic isn't quite the right adjective).  Their earlier work, however, had the same youthful lust and gusto, '80's electronic pulse, and carefree ease as Pulp in its '90's heyday, and Sussidiario illustrato della giovanezza shines as an Italian His 'n' Hers, with perhaps even more consistency (although any band would be hard pressed to match the individual perfection of "Do You Remember the First Time?") and with a self-deprecating wit and honesty that eclipses any other Italian song-writer in its humor and relatability (Scisma and Bluvertigo come close at times, while Verdena and Afterhours tend to a bit darker in content excel in different qualities, especially the former, whose lyrics tend to be impressionistic rather than illustrative)

The '80's pop shimmer and bounce leaps to the forefront from the very get-go with "Le vacanze dell'83," a poppy, nostalgia fueled pastiche that eases us into the album before bursting with an energetic hook.  This is the Pulp-iest song on the album (save "Cinecittà, which channels the spoken word stylings of "This is Hardcore" or "David's Last Summer"), and is almost an anti-"Disco 2000," looking back to the past rather than forward to a hypothetical future encounter.  The chemistry between Francesco Biaconi and Rachele Bistreghi charges to the forefront as the chorus brings this song from a relaxing daydream to an explosion of adolescent pop.  Lyrics such as "lo scrivi o no il tuo romanzo erotico-me sei finito a Rimini?" ("Will you or won't you finish your erotic novel" with the last syllable of the word "erotico" serving as the first syllable of the ponderous line, "how did you end up in Rimini") merge images of sexual liberation together into one, the semi-intellectual pursuit fusing with the most scandalous of summer retreats (Rimini is the Atlantic City of Italy).  All in all, this song checks all of the boxes in foreshadowing what is to come - Pulp-y expressions of sexual confusion? Check.  Carefree pop with just a hint of aimlessness? Check.  Wistful nostalgia expressed through personal anecdotes? Check.

"Martina" is a bit sadder and more pensive, sketching a loose portrait of a girl who hidden behind her "abitudine" (clothing and fashion accessories) - "mascara denso per nudità," "dietro lenti scure riderai" ("heavy makeup for nudity," as if that were her true identity; "behind dark sunglasses, you will laugh").  It's a compelling portrait that contrasts the otherwise carefree "la la la" of the bridge with revelations of "piccoli catastrofi per minuti intimi," as Bianconi exposes almost a sense of disbelief in his own vulnerability as he sings, "tutto ciò vuol dire che anche tu mi tradirai" ("Everything means that even you will betray me"), noting a comprehension of Martina's insecurity that is exceeded only by his own desperate need to know her.  This is followed by "Sadik," a song that initially seems to channel the same carefree nostalgia of "Le vacanze dell'83," but expresses nonetheless a complex sense of angst mixed with sexual imagery.  The line, "incatena colla seta, squillo platino" ("chain up in silk, platinum prostitute") makes no bones about the notion of sexual liberation, but lines like, "Antiomologata adolescenza torbida / meglio di dovere lavorare in fabbrica" (Anti-approval, disturbed adolescence; better than having to work in the factory") and the lines from a film (?) that run in between verses of the song, desperately asking questions such as, "adesso che farai?" "Now what will you do?"  "Sadik" keeps us on our toes, between the drastic shifts in tone to the quickly changing snapshots of youth.  Nonetheless, the pulsing rhythm of this song seems to tie it all together into one confused package, brilliantly reflecting the challenges of youth. Fortunately, "Noi bambine non abbiamo scelta" arrives and slows things down so that we finally have a change to consider everything.  Much more straightforward in its message than its predecessors, this song expresses a troublesome sense of confusion and purposelessness, abandoning all agency for faith in some figure that "Mi telefona, promette che mi rapirà, mi porterà al cinema.  È la mia droga: non mi può far male" (She calls me, promises that she'll kidnap me, take me to the movies. She's my drug: she can't hurt me).  Even the title and chorus, "Non abbiamo altro, non abbiamo scelta noi bambine" (We have nothing else, we have no choice, we kids) clearly express this hopelessness, ironic considering the line "Mi scrive sulla bocca le parole che non posso dire quando piango in questo mondo stupido" (She writes on my lips the words that I can't say as I cry in this stupid world).  The lyrics are certainly depressing, and the fact that they're delivered with such frankness, without any undue emotion, makes them all the more impactful once you put them together.  The slow pace of this song brilliantly reflects the resignation of the lyrics, and seems to brilliantly capture the pains of youthful indirection.

This is followed, however, by the best song on an overall great album.  "Gomma" fuses a pulsing beat and compelling love story to an earnestly emotional chorus, containing a trademark Baustelle honesty.  Indeed, it doesn't get more honest than admitting, "Settembre spesso ad aspettarti" (September I was often waiting for you), unless you're flat out saying, "avrei bisogno di scopare con te" (I would need to fuck you), as this song does.  This song does everything Baustelle excels at on another level, weaving a compelling narrative about adolescent angst with a catchy chorus and bouncy beat.  Finally, the chorus, "tremavo un po' di doglie blu e d'esistenza inutile" (I shivered some from sadness and this useless existence), is perhaps the most powerful emotional moment on this album.

This song seems to be sandwiched by slightly slower songs, it appears, as "Gomma" is followed by "La canzone del parco," which dances slowly through minor keys, repeating anguish ridden lines like, "domani è lontano" (tomorrow is far away).  Definitely the weakest song on the album, it nonetheless serves as a strong transition into the final four tracks of the album, which are not so much about youthful angst as about redemption.  To me, this album is a bit like La dolce vita if it had a happy ending:  we start with depictions of confused characters, stumbling blindly through life, but finally we arrive at stories of redemption.  The most symbolic is "La canzone del riformatorio," the story of a man who went to prison after a drunken assault ("con il coltello nello stivale", though I'm not sure exactly what the context was) admitting his faults and his regrets - "Adesso mi manchi te lo giuro, ... tu chi sarai è chi saremo, fuori del riformatorio, la vita perduta come gioia" (Now I miss you, I swear... Who will you be, who will we be, out of prison, my life lost like my joy).  It's a song that manages to be remarkably sweet despite the violent premise, and while it expresses the same sense of immobility that we see in "Noi bambine non abbiamo scelta," it also looks to the future instead of dwelling on the past.  This is followed by "Cinecittà," an intentionally theatrical song, with sweeping piano chords and violins, split up by an interview for an erotic film.  It's honestly a bit cheesy, but I'm admittedly a sucker for rom-coms, so, despite myself, I do honestly enjoy this song as something of a pure fantasy, as Bianconi gets caught up in his own words and seems to leave the interview behind.  This is followed by "Io e te nell'appartamento," which is a different sort of romantic encounter written into song, but the imagery here is what really captures my imagination.  There's a sense of loneliness in the repeating chords, perhaps accented by the fact that Bistreghi doesn't sing much, if at all, for the first half of this song.  The self doubt here for Bianconi is palpable and totally relatable, however, as he asks, "Dimmi come ti chiami? Quanti ragazzi chiami? Io non so fare niente, volevo solamente..." (Tell me, what's your name? How many guys are you talking to? I don't know how to do anything, I just wanted to...).  The description of the record spinning in an empty apartment is perhaps the ultimate image of angst and loneliness, as the rest of the song matches with even more serene and silent imagery, creating a void that can only be filled by imagination.  The synthesizers that slowly bring this song to a conclusion only serve to heighten our sense of longing.

The last song, of the album, is the one that really drives home the theme of redemption.  With it's message of "Build the modern chansoniere!" and its references to classic European singers like Serge Gainsbourg and Fabrizio de André, we see the roots of the Baustelle aesthetic that would become more and more pronounced as time went on, perhaps to their detriment, as beyond La moda del lento and the song "Gli spietati", most of the band's later output fails to capture my attention.  Nonetheless, the opportunity to look forward toward art instead of back to lost lovers here serves as a perfect closer to this album, which clearly continues to speak to many people today (simply Google any song lyric from this album and you'll see plenty of photos and blog posts dedicated to them).  What Baustelle provides here is a refreshing honesty.  Yeah, we like to have fun, but underneath it all we're still trying to fill that void.  That transparency and openness is something that will always be invaluable as people struggle to find a place in the world.

Personal Canon Review - The Power of Failing by Mineral

What does "emo" mean, really?  It's a surprisingly contentious subject for a lot of people, and there's a lot of flexibility in the way in which people use the term that enables it to encompass a lot of very good music as well as a lot of very crappy music.  When I tell people that I've been getting into a lot of emo stuff lately, and they ask, "You mean, like, Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance, right?", I usually take that as a queue to stop talking about emo music and to start talking about how Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco really did have some good moments, notwithstanding the fact that I really dislike Fall Out Boy's newer output.  Regardless though, all those missed opportunities have really given me an itch to talk about the emo music that I like the most, which is the punkier '90's version of emo music.  Let me admit that the boundaries are somewhat thin between this sort of music and the newer, scene-inspired emo of the 21st Century.  I mean, every emo band is prone to oversensitivity at times - Mineral especially - and even the always cool Jawbreaker were prone to writing a sickeningly saccharine song like "Million" when it came down to it.  In the end, what's the difference that makes it sound genuine and meaningful when Texas is the Reason's "A Jack with One Eye" includes a line like "your place is still at the heart of my everything" but makes a band like Boys Like Girls seem like such unaware poseurs?  We'll try to answer these questions and more as we try to tackle Mineral's The Power of Failing, an album that, on the surface, would seem to have a lot of issues but that nevertheless pulls through with some compelling and stimulating material.

From the very first song, it's obvious what Mineral's drawing from.  They've basically taken the sensitive, non-proggy bits from Sunny Day Real Estate and written a whole album around them, which is honestly just what I was looking for.  "47" is a great song in its entirety, but the "swallowed whole / lose myself in you" part is the real highlight.  But Mineral is really pushing things right off the bat.  First there's the physical album itself.  It's called The Power of Failing, goading the listener with its dubious grammatical correctness, and the title of the album is written in Comic Sans.  Also, I should mention that there are definite religious undertones throughout this album, so I honestly don't know if its about romantic angst or religious piety, adding further stigma on top of the Comic Sans and the emo categorization (as much as I love emo, I always pretend I'm joking when I say that I listen to it because people always assume I listen to it ironically.  Au contraire).  Then we get right into "Five, Eight, and Ten," which starts with plenty of jangly emo goodness but goes and challenges us with the extremely sappy delivery of lines like "But I don't remember inviting them / to put me on this pedestal and make me feel so naked," almost asking us the question, "Are you sure this is what you're looking for?"  But fear not, listener, for past lines like "And I want to know / the difference between / what sparkles and what is gold," intoned with an angst that is almost whiny in nature, we get into the meat of this album.  "Five, Eight, and Ten" is definitely a rough gem, just like Mineral is in general, with a somewhat more lo-fi sound than on Sunny Day Real Estate's emo opus, Diary, but when they emerge at the end of this song, I'll be damned if I'm not pumped for more Mineral.  You might say it "makes me want to try and start again," because good god, that line is delivered with some force - the same sort of force that I, completely unironically, I must shamefully admit (although, in fairness, I was pretty drunk), forced out of "Move Along" by All-American Rejects after the girl I had a crush on left a party I was at.  Here, though, that desperation is right there for us to share, and it's that desperation that makes this a your-mileage-may-vary sort of album.  If you want to jam out with something light and happy, Mineral's not the band for you, but if you want to hear someone sadder than you make angsty music, it's perfect.  Mineral likes to live dangerously, but in this high risk-high reward game of hypersensitive emo, Mineral pulls through just at the end.

That spike at the end of "Five, Eight, and Ten" hardly lets up as we jump into the next song, probably Mineral's best known (if there is a best known Mineral song) and certainly their archetypal song - the anthemic "Gloria."  The structure of this song is impeccable if predictable, and the delivery is perfect.  It starts with a meek admission of failure (or failing, if you will) - "A gray morning. / Thoughts spread their wings and fly, / but I can still taste defeat on my lips" - setting the tone of this album of almost uninterrupted angst.  Then everything is brought up a notch, with some frankly nonsensical lyrics delivered with just enough force to make us wonder what's next before everything bursts open with the line "I HAVE NOT YET ARRI-IVED."  The rest of the lyrics in this song are so perfectly relatable, and express a welcome humility that can be hard to find in music at times.  Lines like "How can I not admit? I need to know you" are just the beginning, as we get to the chorus of this song, the desperate and heartfelt line, "I just want to be something more than the mud in your eyes. / I want to be the clay in your hands."  This song is like a terraced garden, building up to a brocaded peak, and what a peak it is!  I sort of feel like one of the things that celebrates great emo from awful emo is the cleverness and/or sincerity of the lyrics, and with lines like "I NEED TO KNOW YOU" and that heart-breaking chorus, it doesn't get much more earnest than this.  Once again, one gets the sense that Mineral really knows how to finish a song, as they pummel their way to the finish.

"Gloria" is a really powerful emotional moment, and I think following it with two somewhat more low-key songs in "Slower" and "Dolorosa" was just what this album needed.  Not that these songs are necessarily low-key by objective standards - "Slower" emerges from a slower tempo into the a chorus with lines like "I spit into the wind and laugh as the words hit me in the face" - but the desperation is less overt here.  I would say that these are more songs of acceptance and bargaining.  "Slower" actually has quite a few compelling lines, including "people like you and me will never know the easy way" and "I swallow my pride and admit that it's not always best to understand the reasons why," and finishes with a ragged and forceful guitar solo before fading out again as we drift into the even less desperate "Dolorosa."  "Dolorosa" doesn't beg for attention like the previous songs on this album.  It more so glides with a sense of resignation onto the album, guitar riffs swelling and residing like the sea at high tide, always repeating the same verse before, like its predecessor, bursting into one of those urgent repeated verses that Mineral seems to be so good at.  "Dolorosa" is also perhaps the most overtly religious song on the album, yet at the same time there's some sense of romantic discontent in it, which honestly makes it more relatable for me and probably for most other listeners as well.  Warts and all, however, the sheer earnestness and honesty of this album pull it through.  Even when they go wrong, they definitely mean well, which is good enough to keep us wanting more.

More is just what gets delivered with the nostalgia filled "80-37."  I honestly have no idea what the title means, and I wish that I did.  I guess 80-37=43? And Sunny Day Real Estate has songs called "47" and "48," so maybe emo bands are obsessed with numbers in the forties?  I have no other ideas, but regardless this song is a bit schmaltzy but still packs enough of a punch to make it compelling.  The sense of abandonment, and those lines at the end, "Things, they change, and people grow," followed by the conclusion, "They never really find the answers" is something we can all relate to on some level, and for me is the most compelling part of the song.  Anecdotal imagery is similarly utilized to great effect on "If I Could," which is perhaps even more emotional than "80-37" was.  The chiming guitar riff echos the imagery of that line, "I sat behind the wheel and watched the raindrops as they gathered on windshield / and raced down into the humming motor." For me, that line is so memorable, because it's something I've done whenever I'm bored during a car ride, but it's also a strangely potent metaphor for the random vicissitudes of fate.

Finally we get to perhaps the only happy song on this album, "July."  Granted, it's not actually a happy song, but when compared to the rest of the songs on this album, the fact that it implies some sense of agency is quite refreshing.  And hey, listen to that guitar intro! It's, like, kind of shimmery!  I have no idea what the lyrics to this song mean, really, but the finale to this song is once again potent, the line "this is the last song that I should have been singing," unfortunately, sort of reminds us that this album is still the emo-est emo album that ever emo-ed, so don't get used to this mildly positive song.  A shout out as well to the guitar solo at the end, which has a jolting speed to it, which goes well with the overall rawness of this album.  "July" is followed by "Silver," perhaps the most forgettable song on this album, due to its somewhat slower pace.  Despite the overall clichéd angst of the lyrics as well, the first line, "and happiness is just a dream, or so it seems," has a certain beauty to it.  It almost sounds like something out of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  Overall, this is sort of a standard track for Mineral, slowed down and drawn out a bit in order to relax us a bit after the pace of "July," so "Silver" is hardly an unwelcome presence on this album, although I'm not sure it fairs as well out of context as the rest of the songs on this album do.  Next up is "Take the Picture Now," which starts with some nice, wistful imagery and some sort of twinkling guitars to start.  As the energy palpably builds up before boiling over.  Here I should add that I was wrong about "Dolorosa," because this song definitely has the most overt religious imagery, even using the word "redeemer" at one point.  Nonetheless, it's a nice, heartfelt little song that sounds emo enough to ignore as a religious composition, and has a nice smoothness to it.

"Parking Lot" is destined to be the closer of this album, and it's honestly brilliant and every bit as good as "Gloria."  First we have the most depressing lines of the album, with the juxtaposition of "I wouldn't mind if you took me in my sleep tonight" and "I know, I've got to live my life," but then we have some of the most compelling lyrics of The Power of Failing: "And realize on the way that I'm nothing more than a grain of salt in the salt of the earth," followed by that beautiful guitar swell.  At the end, we get back to where we started, with that same image of nakedness and the same acute sense of failure (er... failing).  A lot of more emotionally heavy albums try to be redemptive - Dog Man Star, Fantastic Planet, or This is Hardcore, for instance.  The Power of Failing isn't one of those albums, but it is the perfect album for when you just want to wrap yourself in someone else's angst or scream your lungs out to some emo goodness.  This is an album without the sharp wit of other emo albums like Do You Know Who You Are? or 24-hour Revenge Therapy, but it makes up for it with pure emotion and with a rawness that's missing from a lot of more recent emo music.  In the end, The Power of Failing is honest and it's real, take it or leave it for what it is, but sometimes it's just what you need.

Personal Canon Review: Sleep and Release by Aereogramme

So it's been awhile since I wrote anything on here, and I thought it might be fun to write some more reviews.  One thing I noticed about some of the reviews that I wrote in the past is that reviewing something based on a week or two's worth of impressions isn't an especially good way to go about it.  Sometimes it takes awhile for all of the strengths of an album to reveal themselves to you.  As a result, you can end up, basically, being wrong, like I was about Suede's Dog Man Star, for instance, which I thought at first was just a less interesting successor to their debut.  As a result, I'm going to review some albums that have had more of a chance to sink in, and in fact mean a lot to me on a personal level.  For now I'm not going to rate these because I think that they're the sort of albums that, if you encounter them at the right time in your life, can be perfect tens, or may not appeal to you at all.  Sometimes our tastes form at random depending on when we need a certain work of music - for me, albums like 100 Broken Windows, Dog Man Star, and Souvlaki are absolutely without question the best ever written, while the likes of OK Computer and The Suburbs don't especially appeal to me in the way they do to others. Anyway, I'm going to start with a bit of a challenge in Aereogramme's Sleep and Release.  This is the band's second full album, after A Story in White, and while it abandons some elements that made A Story in White a great album, it also displays a true maturation in the band's craft.

Like their debut, Sleep and Release is an album built on shifts and contrasts.  A Story in White found a lot of its impact in its juxtaposition of heavy, loud songs like "Zionist Timing" with hushed, sensitive songs like "Sunday 3:52" and "Motion."  Sleep and Release follows this model to a certain extent, but in a much more ambitious that contrasts these disparate emotions within individuals songs, and with much more intense climaxes.  Gone are the whispered intonations of old, as in "Sunday 3:52," where the repeated line "I demand your skin" expressed a vulnerability that was palpable to the listener.  Herein continues to lie Aereogramme's greatest strength, however.  The visceral qualities of their music continue to express raw emotion through sound just as much as through lyrics.  This is nothing new - Aereogramme's more famous Scottish compatriots Mogwai have succeeded at this sort of thing for ages - yet Aereogramme's soundscapes impel shifts in emotion that are nearly unparalleled.  This couples with lead singer Craig B's voice, at one moment a quivering falsetto, at others a rabid scream.

On Sleep and Release, the band seem to have honed the transitions between emotions, hopping from anguish to rage to confusion seamlessly and almost unnoticeably at times.  This is an album that never sits still, and while this was the case with their debut - the first two minutes of "Zionist Timing" are so perfect that hearing them disappear without a trace is like heartbreak - this restlessness is perfected on their second album.  "Indiscretion #243" cycles swiftly through four or five melodies before the song ends, transitioning from the compelling introductory line, "I'm listening like my father told me how to, I'm burning like my brother always knew I would," strangely echoing fellow angsty Scots The Twilight Sad's "Strong father figure with a heart of gold" and kids "on fire in the bedroom," into a hymnal chant that subsides just as swiftly.  What comes next is the crushingly real "Black Path."  Hardly ever has a song ever been so direct in its emotional impact, and while Aereogramme can be frustratingly grating at time, moments like these are what makes it possible to not only forgive them for these "indiscretions," but even hold them dear.  I'm not sure what it is about this song that makes it cut so deep with me.  Is it the melancholy, echoing bells that introduce the song? The imagery of mortality, "from green to red, black to gray"? The lyrics, all too real, that warn us about "when everyone becomes afraid of you" and to "see how pathless life can be," acknowledging just how random the events that shape our lives are, just how much it would do us good to allow ourselves to be vulnerable from time to time even if we feel compelled to put on our game-face day after day?  This song hits it home in a way only Aereogramme can, somehow.  I honestly don't think any music has ever been written with the emotional impact of "Black Path," "Sunday 3:52," and "Inkwell" (this last song from the band's album Seclusion).  If any band could write music like this consistently, I'm not sure I could even debate about music anymore.  That said, this is Aereogramme, so they move on, and so must we.

"A Simple Process of Elimination" brings one the core of the album, which is fraught with tension, confusion, and unease.  Just as "Black Path" emerged from silence after the final riff of "Indiscretion #243," those sumptuous bells emerging from nothing, "A Simple Process of Elimination" is a stark diversion from its predecessor, its cold electronic clicks a shock after the decadent intimacy of "Black Path." This is a song that bring us slowly floating into the unrestrained anger of "Older," like the river in Heart of Darkness taking us ever so slowly to the horrors of the colonial Congo.  The twinkling piano keys and floating plea to "erase us; erase this world" are followed by a desperate phone message, unambiguously taking a play from Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor's playbooks, and the still mysterious but slightly more active pulse of "Older," which swiftly crashes into blind, incoherent anger.

From this climax, which is basically the reason I don't offer Aereogramme as a recommendation to my friends, who would likely be a bit unnerved that I listen to music like that,  "Older" fades into "No Really, Everything's Fine."  This is an archetype for Aereogramme songs, a companion to the constantly shifting "Indiscretion #243" (which brings to mind the completely irrelevant Idlewild lyric "the sea's never calm.  It always blows and knows it too"), with equally an equally compelling introduction to angst and a search for identity ("the reason we're all disfigured...") and a similar offer of religious imagery ("I say, 'Kingdom come'") transforming into a sorrowful admission of the hard to swallow truth: "We are all defenseless now / On your own your left somehow / With these broken bones."  The musical swell as Craig B acknowledges his broken bones touches at the same nerve hit by "Black Path" before dissolving into a whirlwind of piano, guitar, and white noise before going back to the first line of the song.  Ending abruptly, "No Really, Everything's Fine" is followed by "Wood," a song that shifts from a catchy introductory melody into a rage just as intense as in "Older."

This is followed, however, by the first transition into consistency of this album.  Aereogramme offers us another morsel of delicious, heartfelt melody with "Yes," a beautiful, frank, and impassioned gem of a song with all of the beauty of "Black Path," but while "Black Path" feels like a delicate flower waiting to crumble, "Yes," clocking in at an unfortunately meager two minutes, because Aereogramme never lets any melody outstay its welcome, is an honest-to-god work of sensitive indie rock.  Thematically, "Yes" ties this album together, lines like "shit, now you're only one hour away / Not that that matters when I couldn't stay" drawing the themes of helplessness from "Indiscretion #243," "Black Path," and "No Really, Everything's Fine," into a clarity that this album, with its foreboding instrumental interludes, has no had in any great helping up to this point.  From "Yes" onward, this album shows a blunt honesty that almost borders on saccharinity compared to the riddles and metaphors that this album started with.  You can almost sense this final shift in "In Gratitude" as Craig sings, "It is dangerous to put this into words, but I miss you."  Yes, the raw emotion was already present in this album, but not the straightforward manner of speaking.  "In Gratitude" doesn't have the punch of "Yes" - it replaces a gutsy guitar solo with a sweeping strings section and expressive imagery with straightforward statements - but it is otherwise a fine song, and by shifting one more notch toward tranquility, it brings us comfortably to "A Winter's Discord."  This is perhaps the most subtle song by a band with loads of subtle songs ("Motion," "The Art of Belief," "Egypt," "Will You Still Find Me?"), and it's blink-and-you-miss-it chorus is something you need to be watching out for, but "A Winter's Discord" has plenty to offer as it lays us softly into the album's untitled closing track, a song that starts off slowly, but wakes us up again, leaving us with a violin melody that would seem at home in Game of Thrones.  At the end of the day, we're left with the same sense of disorientation that we began with; fitting, as Sleep and Release lulls us once again into a false sense of security before reminding us that this album isn't easy, and isn't predictable.  Indeed, Sleep and Release is a lot like life: hard at times, unbelievably rewarding at others.  In the end, I suppose we must accept how "pathless life can be," as painful as the brevity of its melodies may be and as unnervingly as change may wrest us from times of comfort.